Scars
by RogerCrane
Summary: Han and Leia. Post ROTJ/post-coital. Inexperienced in love and relationships, Leia presses Han to open up to her. [First published-"Oh, before you were born"-back at the turn of the century in 2000. Quite significantly updated in 2020, with over 2,500 words added and a coda to the original fic. Warnings: language (Han), adult situations.]


**Scars**

**by CorellianBlue**

(first published 2000, revised 2015 and 2020)

_Warnings: language; adult situations_

* * *

_What an incredible sight, _Leia mused, a smile slinking across her face and contentment bubbling throughout her body. With arms folded across her breasts, Leia leaned against the rim of the hatchway between the refresher and the sleeping area of her cabin and took in the view.

Her eyes started at the large feet that nearly touched the end of the bed, moved up the long, muscled legs towards narrow hips and flat stomach. She followed the line of ribs up to the expanse of chest dappled with fine hair and the nipples she had come to learn were surprisingly sensitive. For a moment, the simple rise and fall of each breath he took entranced her. Then her gaze moved along the sharp angle of collarbone, the broad shoulders rolling over to the curve of biceps, before moving up his strong neck, over the knot of larynx, along the slope of jaw and across to the rest of his face. Relaxed by sleep, an innocence touched those distinctive features of lips, cheeks and brows. Leia inhaled the soft, musky scent of lovemaking that laced the air.

_Be careful,_ she warned herself with a silent snicker, _or you'll start drooling._

She shouldn't question it, yet the sight of a naked Han Solo lying in her bed made her wonder what she had done to deserve him and the happiness he brought her. Simply thinking that Han was _all_ hers—that he had made a firm commitment to her after his rescue from Tatooine—still caused Leia's stomach to flutter with exhilaration like a besotted teenager experiencing her first crush on an older man. And times like these, knowing that she had spent the last hour making love with him, was enough to reduce the normally unflappable Rebel leader to a mess of emotions and hormones. Even for a princess, it was all wildly and incredibly awe-inspiring.

Sometimes, Leia thought she loved Han so desperately she couldn't imagine why it had taken her so long to realise it. She must have been blind as well as stupid. That, or too busy arguing with him.

Sometimes, Leia wanted everyone to know how she felt about Han, to run through the corridors of the command vessel yelling to the ship's company: _Leia Organa loves Han Solo!_

She didn't really need to tell anyone. It was general knowledge throughout the Rebel Alliance that Leia Organa and Han Solo were lovers, even if it wasn't generally approved.

Despite her irrational reveries about spruiking their love to the galaxy, the princess had not officially declared to the Alliance High Command that she was in a relationship with the former smuggler. Not only was it none of their business, Leia didn't quite know how to raise the matter as a committee agenda item.

There had been supposition that more than simple friendship had driven Leia to take a leave of absence to rescue the smuggler from Tatooine. But their relationship hadn't become apparent until after the Battle of Endor—now a good 60 Standard days ago—when she and Han had been transferred to the Mon Calamari cruiser, _Azure Blue_. Leia had exerted some authority and commandeered a cabin with a bunk larger than what she normally would have insisted upon, and although not huge it proved more than adequate for two to share. Han had compounded the situation by refusing the offer of a private cabin, but had then been openly seen entering and leaving Leia's suite. Whispers and gossip were quickly subsumed by the couple's public displays of affection and being caught in compromising positions. If you didn't know Leia Organa was sleeping with Han Solo, you obviously weren't looking hard enough.

Leia's initial affront at the disdain that Alliance senior officers held towards Han quickly turned to delight at the level of notoriety she had attained. _The Alderaanian ice princess has taken a Corellian smuggler for a lover—What scandal!_

It hadn't been smooth flying for the couple. It was a good two months into their relationship since Endor, and although Han was firmly ensconced in her heart, Leia had hoped that by now he would have provided her with more pieces to the puzzle that was Han Solo. But he had revealed nothing, and Leia had not been comfortable demanding more.

Han had always been difficult to fathom. What she did know about him she could write on the palm on her hand. He was older than she was, by probably at least 10 years. He had never told her when he was born, if he even knew, and it was difficult to guess their age difference. There was a wariness about him, a hard edge that suggested experience and seasoning, and created the impression that he was older than he looked. She suspected his life had been solitary, filled with bitterness, deceit and hardship. Despite this, there were occasions when he dropped his shields and allowed her to see a side to him that no-one else knew. In those moments when a vulnerability and simplicity lit his eyes and he appeared even _younger_ than she was, Leia again wondered what events had shaped this man. She had hoped that, given time, he would confide in her about his background, his past and his family. It was just increasingly frustrating for her that he hadn't even made a start.

This level of intimacy was new ground for Leia. Her previous romantic relationships had not moved past innocent kisses with would-be suitors. She didn't know if she was _entitled_ to expect more from Han than he had offered. Did she have a right to be disappointed because he hadn't poured out his life story to her? And would he feel as though she was interrogating him if she asked for more?

She knew Han Solo wasn't the average citizen of the galaxy. It was difficult to predict anything about him, let alone his reaction if she asked questions about his past. Would questions sour their happiness? Would he resent her? All she knew for certain was that she loved him. That should be enough for anyone, shouldn't it?

With a contrite shake of her head, Leia stepped through the mess of clothing, gun rig, boots and shoes and moved towards the naked man in her bed. A vaguely wicked grin shaped Leia's mouth as she imagined how they must look. _She had a Corellian smuggler for a lover_—which was a considerable leap from the chaste and respectable life her aunts would have charted out for her. Leia imagined the reactions of Aunt Tia and Aunt Rouge if they could have seen her 'carrying on', as they would have called it, with a man who would have been arrested if he had made planetfall on Alderaan. As much as Leia had loved her spinster aunts, they had been frightfully prudish. If Leia had been able to take Han home to the palace at Aldera, there would have been looks of dismay and gasps of shock. Tia may have had an eye for handsome men, but Leia doubted Han's looks would have appeased either aunt.

Leia's recollections turned wistful. There was one man she wished she could introduce to Han; one man she had wanted to please and to seek his approval. Leia had no doubt that her _real_ father, Bail Organa, would have queried her about her choice of men: What parent wouldn't with Han Solo? But she was certain Bail would have grown to like Han and accept her Corellian into the Organa household.

Having a family and a sense of where a person came from was vitally important to Leia, particularly after she had lost so much. This was why she needed to know about Han and his family. And although the harsh truth had been exposed about her heredity, it had also provided her with a much-loved brother in the shape of Luke.

Han had stood quietly by her side when she had disclosed these revelations, neither judging nor questioning, simply accepting Leia for who she was—the woman he loved. Why then couldn't she give Han the same unconditional acceptance?

Leia tried to re-focus her self-defeating thoughts back to the man in question. Lying down with his head and shoulders propped up on the pillows, a soft snore escaped from his open mouth. She had only been gone a few minutes and already he seemed sound asleep. So much for the declaration he had made early on in their relationship that he wasn't _like most men_, that he wouldn't roll over after sex and fall asleep.

Leia stared at the large foot directly in front of her. With a delicate touch, she ran her fingertips up the sole of his foot. A snort abruptly stopped the snore. He moved his lips, turned his head to the side. The snore resumed, only louder this time.

Leia suppressed a short laugh. There were other more tempting parts of his anatomy she could have awoken, but she didn't know if she was up to facing a refreshed and aroused Han Solo. She tugged on his big toe instead.

"Hey!"

Caught mid-snore, Han struggled into life. A dazed look crossed his face and he blinked twice.

"What?" His tone was gruffly defensive.

"You fell asleep," Leia accused with a smile. She placed her hands on her hips in response to his dismissive grimace. "You _were_ asleep," she asserted.

"Just resting my eyes."

"You were asleep." She tugged on his toe again. "I thought you said you weren't like other men." She dropped the pitch of her voice in a poor imitation of his baritone. "'I don't roll over and fall asleep', were your words."

Han turned his palms up in submission and gave her a crooked smile. "You must've worn me out, sweetheart."

"Who wore who out?" she asked incredulously, recalling what they had been up to during the last hour. She was positive she had over-stretched muscles she didn't know she had, including some that might provide an interesting talking point amongst the ship's company if she spent the next few days walking bow-legged.

Han's smile widened, spreading up to his eyes, and Leia found herself smiling back, a touch self-consciously, trying to work out what he found so amusing.

"What?" she asked.

He raised his chin towards her. "Look at you."

"Me?" Leia chuckled, still not sure what the joke was. "What about me?"

The familiar spark in his eye spoke more than words. "There's an incredibly beautiful, sensual, _sexy_ woman, no—_princess_—an incredibly beautiful, sensual, sexy princess—who I just made love to—standing above me, as naked as the day she was born. Why shouldn't I be smiling?"

Leia blushed and averted her eyes, instinctively hunching her shoulders forward and clasping her hands to opposite elbows in a belated attempt to hide her breasts. It had taken only a short time for her to come to terms with her own sexuality and to cherish the sensations that Han's experienced touch could elicit in her body. It had taken her slightly longer to be casual about being naked in front of a man, particularly this man. Even so, a simple look or comment from Han about her nudity could still cause an unexpected surge of embarrassment.

"Leia."

The appeasing timbre of his voice suggested that this time he would not tease her about her coyness. Her gaze returned to his and his outstretched hand, an invitation she could not resist. She took his hand, allowed him to pull her back onto the bunk and on top of himself. He made a small, appreciative sigh as she pressed her hips to his and lay her face against his chest. He rested his chin on the crown of her head, loosely hugging her body to his, and closed his eyes.

"You know, Your Highnessness," he told her matter-of-factly, "you've totally ensnared me." His hands caressed her back in circular patterns, the heat both comforting and invigorating. "Heart, mind, body and soul."

Leia wiggled her hips and squeezed the biceps on the arm she was facing.

"What about the good bits?" she pestered good-naturedly.

He brushed a kiss into her hair. "Everything about me is good bits."

She stifled a giggle. "Everything?"

"You should know." He batted away her attempt to pinch his nipple. "Uh-uh. Don't play with what you can't handle."

"Ohh?" she asked playfully. "Aren't we cocky?"

"I could be, Sweetheart," he growled in reply, "I could be."

Leia smiled into his chest as he adjusted his hold on her, pulling her closer. Han could become aroused quite quickly, but she didn't believe he was overly interested in making love again if the lack of activity below his waist was anything to go by. It looked like a cuddle would satisfy for now.

She turned her head back towards the arm she was holding onto. Her fingers gently brushed the slight ridge of scar where his upper arm met his shoulder. The section of skin behind the scar tissue was a shade lighter than the rest of his arm. This old injury was obviously a blaster wound that hadn't received immediate medical attention; Leia had seen many similar scars amongst wounded Rebel troops.

There was a matching though less discernible mark further down on his forearm, and she took a moment to touch that too. Resting her chin on the back of her hand, Leia traced the veins in his arm back up to the shoulder scar. These scars had always fascinated her. They were a tantalising glimpse into his previous life.

"You've got a thing about my arm, haven't you?"

Leia glanced up to find Han looking down at her. She frowned as the corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin.

"I do not have a _thing_. I'm just curious about these scars."

His eyes sparkled in challenge. "Why don't you ask me how I got them?"

It was a good question. She had been tracing these scars on his arm since they had first made love on their escape flight to Bespin, and relatively speaking that was quite some time ago.

"Why should I have to ask you?" Leia's gaze hardened as she decided to turn his challenge around. "Why can't you just tell me? Why can't you tell me because you think that I might be interested, and you want to share your life with me?"

Han noticeably pulled his head back, surprised at the touch of vehemence in her voice. He held up a placating hand and offered her a brilliant smile.

"They're only a few scars, Sweetheart. I didn't think you'd be that interested."

"I _am_ interested," she insisted, not quite prepared to give in. "I'm interested in everything about you." She levered herself up on his chest, so she was at eye level with him. "You know everything about me. The most intimate details. You know all about me, my family, my history—everything. What I know about you, I could write on half a sheet of flimsy." She shook her head in bewilderment. "Why won't you open up to me?"

Han's smile faltered, slipped, then emerged solidly back in place. "You know everything about me; more than anyone."

Leia eyed him disbelievingly. "All I know are vague basics. That sometime in your past, you trained at the Carida flight academy; transferred to the Imperial Army; deserted; somehow released a Wookiee slave; became a smuggler; rescued a princess from the Death Star; and eventually became a general in the Rebel Alliance. _That_ is _not_ everything, Han."

His shrug wobbled between modesty and reticence. "What can I say, Leia? There's not much substance to me."

Leia nodded at him knowingly. "Fine, Han," she told him in a voice that indicated it was anything _but_ fine.

She tried to roll from his arms, but he held her in place and quickly added, "But seeing as you asked so nicely,"—Leia stopped struggling— "I'll tell you."

Han allowed her to settle back into place before indicating the scar on his right shoulder with a nod of his chin. His face became starkly serious and he told her, "Vicious girlfriend."

Leia hit him, a non-too-gentle fist into the shoulder in question. He flinched but didn't move.

"Like _that_?" she asked, as sweetly as a Krayt dragon protecting its hatchlings.

His reply was petulant. "Maybe."

She curled her fist again. "Perhaps it was more like—"

"Okay, okay, I surrender." He rolled his eyes and muttered to himself, "Why did I have to get the princess who is worse than any bounty hunter?"

"Because you're the _lucky_ scoundrel," Leia generously pointed out. "You should see what sort of princesses the other scoundrels get saddled with. There are far worse royals out there than me, Sweetheart." She sharply drew him back to their previous conversation. "But if you don't tell me how you got that scar, I might just have to take matters into my own hands."

Han's mouth spread into a slow, sensual smile. "I like the sound of that."

Leia felt a familiar twitch—a contraction of ligament—below his waist.

"Han…" she warned.

"What?" he asked innocently. "I didn't do anything."

The hardness pushed into her stomach again and she sighed in exasperation. "I threaten violence, and you get turned on. Why is that?"

Han raised his eyes to the bulkhead above them. "If you don't know by now…"

Her face tensed and she stiffened in his arms. Although he was getting better at working out her limits, sometimes he went too far. Sometimes he went too far on purpose.

He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, mollifying her slightly.

"You're a bad woman, Leia Organa," he told her tenderly. "In addition to everything else, I think you're corrupting me." He snapped a finger and pointed it into her face. "It shouldn't be allowed. Someone should do something about you before you get carried away. Report you to Rieekan. Or Mon Mothma. Or better yet, Sentient Resources. Is there an inspector-general of princesses?. If not, there oughta be. Then I could lodge a formal complaint. Demand to speak to the manager. Petition for a commission of inquiry."

Leia raised a bemused eyebrow. "Finished?"

Han tucked his smile and finger away, resumed without missing a beat. "You know me and Chewie spent some time out in the Corporate Sector before we hooked up with Luke and old Kenobi on Tatooine? Well, it wasn't too profitable. Managed to make a few enemies as well."

"I keep telling you, it's that wonderful way you have with people," Leia advised cheekily. "Tomorrow, we'll start on your diplomacy lessons."

Han's smile was tight, mock congenial. "Thanks. I'm lookin' forward to them." He scratched at the scar on his chin. "Anyway, I managed to get on the wrong side of this one guy. He was a professional gunslinger, real slick. He wore the costume. Even had these weird little beads knotted in his moustache." He gestured above his mouth with the tips of his fingers, twirling imaginary beads in an imaginary moustache. "Gallandro."

But there was something in his voice that told her the encounter with Gallandro had seriously affected him. This wasn't just some guy he'd bumped into at a cantina.

"Was there was a contract out on you?" she softly asked.

His nose scrunched up as he grimaced. "Nah. It was all personal with Gallandro." He grinned at some element of his recollection. "He thought I was a smart ass."

"Nooo? I can't believe anyone _ever_ thinking that about you."

Leia couldn't help her sarcastic comment, and he patted her cheek fondly in response.

"He wanted to teach me a lesson, put me back in my place. Told me that I needed…I think he called it 'chastening'." He pointed at himself. "Me? Chastening?"

He was laying on the affront thick—perhaps to derail their conversation—and she felt inclined to momentarily indulge him.

"Scandalous," Leia murmured. "The nerve."

"Damn right," he agreed.

"I've seen it," she told him, "and there's nothing smart about your ass."

Mouth open, he stopped, and waggled his Pointing Finger at her again.

Tapping her nose to emphasise each word, he reminded her, "A formal complaint. To the IG of Princesses!"

With a cant to her head, she conceded, "It's a nice ass. A very nice ass."

He nodded once in acknowledgement, smirked. "Thank you, I try my best."

"But I've seen a lot of asses in my time. A lot of asses. And it's not smart." She tried not to laugh at the face he pulled. "Now." She tapped her own finger on the end of his nose. "Back to Gallandro."

"Not even a little bit smart?" he ventured.

"No. Back to Gallandro," she pressed. "We've established he was trying his best to chasten you." She rolled her eyes. "For some _unfathomable_ reason."

"Oooh," he agreed. "Good word."

Leia gave him the imperious stare she had perfected during her time as a senator. Han lifted his shoulders in a small shrug of resignation.

"Chasten," he continued. "Never gonna work. He should've asked first. I could've told him I've never been good with discipline."

It was tempting to follow up on exactly what he meant by this, conceivably ask him for examples of when he'd been reprimanded. Leia suspected he would have been quite an unruly teenager: delinquent, insubordinate and in trouble with Corellian law enforcement. His difficulty with military regimen had no doubt seen him booted from the Imperial Academy. But she was uncertain she'd be able to get him back on track if she allowed a deviation. She really wanted to know the connection between the gunslinger and the scars on Han's arm. And now he was talking, she didn't want to interrupt.

"Gallandro had been looking for an excuse, any excuse—_itching_—to take me on in a duel." He pressed his lips together, shrugged again. "That, or lock me up in some Authority horror factory so I'd never see starlight again. But, I…" He spoke the rest quickly, eager to finish. "…I pulled one over him and got away with a decent sum of credits and, um, some other…er, stuff..."

The way his narrative petered out, and a certain glint in his eye, suggested there was something else—or _someone else_—he had gotten away with as well. Leia tried to dampen her spark of jealousy. It was irrational to be envious of old girlfriends and, knowing Han, there were probably quite a few women in his past, perhaps some they might even bump into one day. Best not to think about the _number_ of girlfriends or possible future encounters. _Ignorance is bliss_, as her father used to say. _But bliss will not stop those facts from existing._

The important thing was to focus on Han loving _her_ now, not those other women. If any of his previous lovers had meant anything to him, he would still be with them. While her reasoning was sound, Leia couldn't shake the impression that she was not totally convincing. She smoothed her fingers along his arm to reassure herself that she was lying there on top of him, naked and loved.

It may have been her comforting touch, or her lack of further questioning, that persuaded Han to expand on the story.

"Gallandro caught up with me again not long after that, when me and Chewie hit the Tion Hegemony." He shook his head at the memory. "Shit, was he pissed at me."

Leia couldn't resist interrupting, "Ah, that wonderful way you have with people!"

Han fixed her with a cautioning look and the Pointing Finger. "I. G., Your Worship,"—exaggerating each letter—"I. G."

"I forgot." She inclined her head graciously. "Please continue."

"Thank you." Han cleared his throat. "_Gallandro_," he emphasised. "Remember him?"

"How could I for—"

"Ahhh!" The finger tapped her nose again.

Leia tried not to smirk at his tone, but her traitorous mouth would not let her. Nudging his finger down with her nose, she grazed a kiss across his fingertip, causing him to spend a moment tracing his finger around the edge of her lips, his eyes softening to a daze-like state.

Aiming to wake him from his daydream, she reminded him, "Gallandro?"

"Who? Oh, yeah, him." He winked at her to acknowledge this banter was all in jest. "So, I knew I couldn't get out of another stand-off with the G-man," he said flippantly.

Leia doubted Han had ever called the gunslinger by that disparaging nickname.

"He just wasn't gonna let me. And he was good. Damned good. Way, way outta my league. Faster than I'll ever be."

His stunt with her lips must have put her off, because she suddenly realised what he had said. "'Stand-off'? What do you mean 'stand-off'?" she asked incredulously. "You actually _faced_ him in a duel?"

The thought of two men trying to kill each other in such a deliberate and calculating manner was abhorrent. There was enough pain and violence in the galaxy without adding to it. Times like this made her realise just how different she and Han were.

Han grinned at the aversion on her face.

"There was nothing else I could do. I certainly didn't want to see who had the fastest speed-draw, but Gallandro seemed to think it was his job to clean out all the wannabes from the galaxy. I s'pose it was just my turn."

Leia wanted to believe that Han would have walked away from this duel if he'd had the chance, but she also knew he would never turn his back on a fight. Hand-to-hand duelling seemed so cold-blooded, antiquated, and an overtly and stupidly male action. Had it been a dick measuring contest? Or more like a pissing into the wind contest?

"So, you faced him," she said, trying to conclude this horrendous tale, "and you won."

Han's grin froze into a tight line across his face. "No. I lost."

For a moment, she thought he was joking. Han had the fastest speed-draw she had ever seen. Many times, she had watched him practise at the holographic target range. To be beaten at a skill he was rightfully proud of must have been a sobering experience.

"Did he let you go?"

He shook his head. "Gallandro was no philanthropist. As I said, he wanted to teach me a lesson. I figure we must've drawn at the same time, but he was faster on the trigger. His first shot hit me here." He touched his right shoulder. "He wasn't off target. His aim was good. If he'd wanted me dead, I'm sure he could've just shot me in the head instead." Han grimaced in self-disgust. "But I was slow. Slow and fucked. Only managed to get a shot off into the floor. After that, I just…" He was briefly lost for words. "Just stood there like a fucking moron and he fired at me again. Hit me here." He touched the faint discolouration on his forearm. "I dropped my blaster."

Leia knew the agony of a blaster wound and a flash of empathy swamped her senses. She could feel the pain Han had experienced a few short years ago, the stench of his charred flesh assailing her nostrils.

"Gallandro showed me who was boss. Then he cuffed my feet together with some binders and got ready to drag me away. I was off to the nearest detention facility as far as he was concerned."

This was his second mention of being imprisoned. His dismissive claim didn't sound insignificant to Leia; if he had been detained in the Corporate Sector, she may not have been rescued from the Death Star.

Han half-shrugged the shoulder that had started this tale. "Anyway, I guess I was lucky. While I was lying there, moaning on the ground like an idiot, Gallandro was more of an idiot and took his blaster into a no-weapons zone. The auto systems detected his breach and eliminated him. Left him a sticky, smoking patch on the ground."

He didn't seem particularly pleased at the picture he used to describe Gallandro's demise, but it was in keeping with his character.

"By the time I got some decent medical attention," Han finished explaining, "scar tissue had already formed. I didn't have too many credits back and decided to leave well enough alone. Never got the scars removed. I kinda like to use it as a reminder, so I won't let it happen again."

Leia was certain he would never forget what happened, regardless of having scars or not. She would certainly always remember the moment he had decided to tell her.

"Do you realise," she began, "that all it would've taken was for this Gallandro to decide to kill you and be done with it, or if he hadn't gone armed into that no-weapons zone, you'd be—"

"—rotting in some Authority prison," he succinctly concluded for her, with a slight tilt of his head. "If that hadn't killed me by now."

No Han.

Leia could not—_did not_—want to imagine a galaxy that had no Han Solo in it.

Without a further word, she leaned down and pressed her lips to the mark on his forearm, moved up and kissed his scarred shoulder. She slid back to her position on his chest. The smile she gave him was small, considered and grateful; he returned it with equal grace. Until she traced the slash of scar across his chin, and his eyebrows raised melodramatically.

"And what about this?"

He threw his head back and chuckled, squeezing her into a hug.

"I'm serious, Han," she maintained.

"Are you gonna do my whole body?" he laughed.

"Perhaps," she considered. "Think of it as therapy."

"Doctor-Princess Leia, huh?"

"Why not?"

He sighed dreamily. "Well, _Doctor-Princess Leia_, I've got some other things I wouldn't mind you having a look at while you're here."

"I bet you have." She tweaked his nose. "But first, let's start with the chin."

He closed his eyes and sighed again. "All right." He thought for a moment, then looked at her seriously. "I was about 11, 12. Had just boosted a speeder, an—"

"—boosted?" She was not familiar with the colloquialism. Was it Basic? A Corellian idiom?

He frowned at her, confused she had no idea what he meant. "Boosted. Stolen."

"Oh." What in hell's name was he doing stealing a speeder at the tender age of 11?

"Thought I better do the 'right thing'"—the way he said it, Leia could practically see the air quotation marks—"by securing the safety harness at the same time I was peelin'"—he changed his language for her benefit—"driving away. Rounded a corner, ran smack into a utilities pole. Cracked my chin open on the steering yoke."

Leia's mouth literally dropped open. "You're joking!"

Han looked offended. "Blood poured everywhere. I was just a kid. Too embarrassed to have it looked at."

"Really?"

His story sounded plausible, even if she was disturbed by the thought of him committing grand theft at such a young age, and she'd definitely have to follow up on that one day. But the age at which he said he'd had the accident was a bit off for the scar to still be so prominent; surely it would've faded by now? And although she had been prepared to believe him, he had offered up this revelation far too readily after the previous effort it took to pull his teeth.

Leia wrinkled her nose in disbelief. "That sounds like something Luke would have done."

Han agreed with her far too quickly. "It does, doesn't it? Okay—" and he was off on another tangent— "I was 12 or 13, and I really wanted a ring in my nose."

Oh, she had to clarify this, even if it was also a lie or half-truth. "Like an earring?"

"No"—he used a finger to wiggle the tissue under the tip of his nose— "like a ring in my nose."

"_Very_ attractive,"" she hummed in her deepest, most sultry voice. "I could've used it lead you around."

"You don't need a nose ring to do that," he pointed out.

"That's what I've heard your troops saying as well!"

He abruptly went still, tucked his upper lip over his bottom lip and raised his eyes to the upper bulkhead.

"Hmmm…let's see… 'Dear Inspector-General…'"

"What are you doing?" she sniggered.

His thoughtful pose didn't waver. "Composing that complaint."

She batted a hand gently at his shoulder and he gave her a wounded look.

"And now you're hitting me again!"

He was putting on a wonderful performance for her and she couldn't help but giggle. Han Solo was the only man who could make Leia Organa giggle like a besotted teen, and most definitely the only man game enough to try.

Still chuckling, Leia attempted to steer the conversation back into its hyperlane. "So…the nose ring." She rolled her eyes.

"The nose ring," he agreed. "This girl said she'd pierce my nose for me. In the 'fresher. On the sani unit."

"Sounds very sanitary."

He shrugged. "What did I know. I was 15—"

"—I thought you said you were 12 or 13?"

"—and she was a girl…" He waggled his eyebrows. "And…you know…"

She could see where this was going. "You were willing to let her put a hole in you?"

"In the hope that I could put a hole in her."

She made a half-laugh/half-gasping noise, before: "Han!" She didn't believe he had said that.

"Hey, I was 14—"

"—12, 13, 14, 15," she counted out, fixing him with a suspicious stare.

He seemed oblivious to her efforts to call him out. "I'm sitting on the sani unit, and she pulls out this huge spike."

He gestured with his hands, about the width of his chest. Leia shook her head, disbelieving but enjoying the story anyway, wondering how much—if any of it—was true.

"Sticks it into my nose—" He jabbed the make-believe spike into his nostril, jerking his head back.

"Let me guess," she said wryly. "Blood poured everywhere."

"You were there!" He exclaimed, before continuing, "I fainted. Hit my face on the lid of the sani, and…" He pointed, rather proudly, to the scar on his chin. "There you have it."

Nodding, like she had his number—like she _always_ had his number—Leia said. "Are you going to tell me what really happened?"

He shook his head. "You don't believe me?"

"No."

"Oh, well." He shrugged. "Guess I'll have to tell you the truth."

Leia remained gracious. "Thank you."

Han responded in kind. "You're welcome."

She sat their patiently as he thoughtfully ran his teeth over his bottom lip.

"That same trip into the Corporate Sector where I had it out with Gallandro"— Leia knew from the slight colour-change in his eyes that this was the real story— "a guy pulled a knife on me. I didn't duck quickly enough. Simple." He fingered the scar. "Always wondered if I should get it removed."

"No!" Leia protested, replacing his finger with hers. She leant forward and kissed his chin. "What else would I have to identify you in a police line-up?"

"Nice."

She sat back from him again. "Next!"

Han twisted his mouth. "I have a scar on my other shoulder, near my neck."

Leia pushed his head to the side to see. She couldn't recall seeing a scar there before.

"It's faded a bit now, so you may not be able to see it."

She smoothed the prominent angle of muscle of his trapezius with her fingers, down to where his neck met his shoulder, searching for a clue. The skin looked clean and unmarked.

"What was that from?" she asked.

"When I had my second head removed."

She stopped, stared at him forebodingly, but prepared to give him this one.

"Second heads are normally rather ugly," she remarked.

He nodded in agreement. "This one was butt ugly."

She gave him a sickly, sweet smile, frowned in query. "Are you sure they took the right head off?"

"You're the doctor, Doctor-Princess Leia. You tell me."

She kissed the base of his neck, then moved back again. "Next."

He grinned at her amiably. "You have to find the next one. Then I'll tell you how I got it."

The incline to her head said she did not believe he would abide by the rules.

"I'll even give you hints," he quickly added. "I'll tell you whether you're hot or cold."

Leia sat up, her legs straddling his pelvis. This game could be fun, but it could also be his way getting out of revealing any more to her.

She touched the spot on his shoulder she had just kissed. "Am I cold?"

"Ohh, very cold. Like ice. Like Hoth!" He seemed particularly pleased with that analogy. "Remember Hoth?

"I remember Hoth."

"Man, were you were co—"

"Don't say it," she warned with a tight smile. "You don't want to go there."

Grinning at pushing his limits and her buttons, he cleared his throat and relented. "Okay, okay." He went stock still, said, "Cold."

Leia dragged her finger across the base of his throat, down to the top of his chest. "How's that?"

He lay placidly beneath her, arms by his side and palms open, ready for inspection.

"Still cold."

Her finger made a path down along his sternum, stopping at the base of his ribs. "Now?"

His gaze slid to the side as he considered her move. "You're getting warmer, but you've still got a way to go."

She felt a familiar twitch behind her, a short tap against her backside, but she carried on her study. Her finger slid around the lower edge of his ribs, across his flat stomach, snaked back to his navel.

"This is a nice scar," she suggested, poking her smallest finger into the ident below the curved ridge.

He shook his head. "Not the one I'm thinkin' of. You're on the right track. Don't give up now, _Doctor-Princess Leia_. You're nearly there."

Using both hands, Leia caressed the strong delineratoin of ligaments angling from his hips and along his upper legs at the bottom of his torso, only stopping where they ran underneath her thighs as she straddled him. He inhaled as her fingers travelled downwards, his stomach concave, all but purring as he granted her access further towards the apex of her thighs.

She was almost prepared to give in to his side-tracking plans and be done with it. He had been rather forthcoming with his explanation about the marks on his arms, and the chin scar. And she did so love the way these ligaments enticed her to further explore.

Leia glanced across as the hand next to his hip flinched suddenly. Then she saw it: a thin, white scar across the top of his palm. It was a rather innocuous mark, and one she had noticed before but thought nothing of it.

"Ah hah!" she grabbed his hand eagerly. "What's this from?"

She pulled his hand toward her, her fingers pushing against the fine white line that stretched the width of his hand. Her grin triumphant. She had him now.

Han's eyes dulled, the muscles in his cheeks slackened. Leia instantly knew his shields had come on-line, as effective as any ship defensive system. His fingers curled into a fist and he pulled his hand from her grasp.

"I don't remember."

His tone told her he didn't want to play anymore. He bodily picked her up from his waist and rolled himself off the bed, leaving her confused in the sheets. Leia made a move to grab his arm, but he was already heading into the adjoining refresher suite.

Too late, she called his name. "Han."

Either he didn't hear, or he chose to ignore her. The door shut between them, leaving her alone in the cabin.

Legs splayed, Leia sat there wondering what nerve she had touched. Could he really be that sensitive about a hardly discernible white scar? Perhaps he had become exasperated by her annoying questions.

Leia heard the sonics switch on in the refresher.

_That must be it for the night,_ she thought with a sigh of resignation.

These intimate relationships could certainly be a lot of hard work, especially with a man as difficult as Han Solo.

Trying not to be too irritated with him or the turn of events, Leia settled back into the bed and pulled the covers up around herself. She picked up the datapad from the bedside locker and gave her attention to recent intelligence reports.

Sometime later, the hatch to the refresher opened and Leia looked up from the datapad. Han stood at the end of the bed, looking clean and refreshed and, she wanted to imagine, slightly contrite.

"You hungry?" he asked softly. "I'm hungry."

"Probably because you haven't eaten," she replied, still determining how difficult she wanted to make this for him.

He tried a hopeful smile. "I thought I had more than a mouthful earlier."

Leia smiled, despite herself.

"Wanna get dressed?" he asked. "Head down to the mess?"

She gave him a wan look and pulled the covers from her body. "No, Han. I was thinking about heading to the mess just as I am."

Han snagged up his underwear from the floor and scratched his head. "That's fine by me, Your Worship, but the crew might talk."

"You've got clean boxers in the cupboard," she pointed out.

"I know," he agreed. "I was just tidying up."

_Aah, _Leia thought._ He _is_ trying to apologise._

She put the datapad down and slipped from the bed. "Give me five minutes."

"Only five?"

She affectionately patted his cheek. "And don't push your luck."

Han snagged an arm around her waist and pulled her into him. He stared down into her eyes, then pressed a kiss to her lips: gentle, sweet and succulent. As he pulled away, his smile was small but appreciative.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

The moment seemed more profound than it should have been. They had barely had a disagreement, more like static in communications. She lay her hand against his cheek again, pulled his head back towards her until their noses touched.

"You don't deserve me," she told him. At such proximity, she could detect the flecks of gold in his eyes.

"So they tell me," he solemnly replied. "And I think they're right."

His eyes closed when she kissed the end of his nose.

Leia stepped away from him and headed for the refresher. She held her hand up over her head, fingers spread.

"Five minutes."

"You know me," he said, reaching for one of his white flight socks. "I'd wait an eternity for you, sweetheart."

Leia pressed the controls for the sonics, adjusting them to her preference.

_That's half my problem,_ she thought. _I don't know you._ She tested the setting with a hand before entering the stall. _But I'm working on it._

* * *

Leia adjusted the lighting in her cabin to the subdued, blue-tinged sleep environ as Han snuggled up behind her, her naked back against his bare chest, his thighs tucked up behind hers. His arms looped around her waist as he pulled her closer, hands skimming across the skin of her stomach as she placed her own hands over the top of his. With his face, he pushed aside the tail of her hair drawn together at the rear of her head, pressed a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck. Their breathing synced as they settled together, slow and deep, winding down into their sleep cycle.

Leia felt herself drifting, releasing her hold on the many stresses and strains she carried, and allowed herself just to be there with him, relishing the peace, tranquillity, love and safety she felt in his arms. There was nowhere else in the galaxy she would rather be.

When he spoke, his words seemed to come from a great distance, not the few centimetres behind her, and so initially, Leia thought she was dreaming.

"I got kicked out of the Academy for disobeying a lawful command." His voice was pragmatic, almost resigned.

In the blue-lit twilight of her room, Leia eyes flew open, her breath catching high in her chest.

"I know, I know what you're gonna say," Han rumbled into her ear. "That doesn't sound like me at all."

She smiled at his levity but dared not move. When he didn't continue, she ventured on, giving him a gentle prod.

"That sounds a bit extreme," she said, offering her understanding. "Dismissing you from the Navy for one transgression?"

His hands stopped caressing her stomach.

"Well, it wasn't my first 'transgression'. I'd had other misdemeanours," he explained. She felt his shoulders shrug in acceptance. "Insubordination charges. Time in the brig."

She left her hands curving against his.

"It was my third year. Just before graduation. Cadet ID number 124-329."

At this precious gem of information, Leia stopped breathing, closed her eyes.

"Against orders, I broke formation to help out another squad pilot who was about to get creamed by some raiders. Saved him, but got whacked myself and ended up crashing my TIE into the hangar bay of a cruiser."

She felt him slowly shake his head, as if in wonder at the recollection.

"Took out the entire hangar, including two squadrons of fighters and a bunch of astromechs. Didn't kill anyone, and was lucky to walk away with only minor injuries."

Leia squeezed the back of his hands. "I was lucky."

He turned his hands over, weaved his fingers through hers.

"For my troubles, I was court-martialled, demoted to corporal, transferred to the 224th Imperial Armoured Division, and shipped out on the next available transport." The longer he spoke, the more relaxed he became, a spring slowly unwinding. "Didn't realise what hit me until I had warm Mimbanese mud squelching out of orifices I hadn't known I had."

In those few words, Han had provided her with a tremendous insight into his past and his psyche. Leia's mind raced as she pieced together what he'd told her.

_Mimban_. Leia knew the planet was in the Expansion Region. A wild, almost uncivilised planet, its dense, ionised atmosphere generated thunderstorms that kept the sky perpetually bruised and overcast, draping its marshlands and rainforests in habitually impenetrable fog.

The planet was a rich source of hyperbarides, a group of rare superheavy elements required for turbolaser technology, which the Empire set about acquiring over several years. Ten years before the Battle of Yavin, the Empire used the 224th Imperial Armoured Division to subjugate the local indigenous populations on Mimban, to facilitate Imperial energy mining operations to fuel the vast Imperial war machine.

The Mimban campaign persecuted by 224 IAD had turned into a war of attrition and had demonstrated, yet again, the futility of trench warfare. The Mimbanese Liberation Army, previously trained by the Grand Army of the Republic during the Clone Wars, had not readily capitulated, instead deploying guerrilla tactics against the invading forces, using improvised explosive devices, catapults and tripwires. The Mimbanese never took prisoners: decapitations of Imperial troopers flavoured their tactics.

The planet's unfriendly environment, combined with a desperate and skilled enemy, had led to brutal, hellish and unsanitary circumstances. Troops on both sides were exposed to wet, humid conditions and almost constant artillery bombardment. And while there had been enormous number of casualties on the Imperial side, the campaign had resulted in the virtual genocide of the Mimbanese.

Han had been an Imperial MudTrooper—regular Army—serving in the 224th. No wonder he had an almost pathological loathing of mud. She also understood now why he had an aversion to rain and was particularly irritable in humidity.

Knowing him the way she did, the morals and standards that he once regularly decried he did not have, Leia did not believe Han would have willingly partaken in the horrors the Empire inflicted upon the Mimbanese, especially as he had freed Chewbacca from captivity. In all likelihood, his transfer into the Army may have led to him deserting the Imperial forces, and ultimately saving his life. Ultimately, setting him along the path that led him to her. That was something else to ask another time.

Leia had been all of nine years old when Han had been fighting for his life on Mimban. And although she may have been oblivious to the campaign at the time, Bail Organa had been informed about the outcome of the operations and the ethnic cleansing on Mimban many months after the campaign had ended. Carlist Rieekan, her father's chief strategist and confidant, had debriefed the Alderaanian Viceroy. Leia recalled her father storming from one of Carlist's briefing, full of fire and outrage. It was only later, in her teens when she had been preparing to take up her elected position on the Imperial Senate, that she had become aware of what had caused Bail Organa's ire.

"Only there a few weeks before I bugged out." His voice trailed off, possibly a result of the memories he was re-living, memories he had no doubt tried to bury under the suffocating Mimbanese mud. "I was about 21 years old. Seems like a lifetime ago."

"Another life," Leia assured him, pulling his arms further around her, nestling as closely against him as she could, lacing and re-lacing her fingers in his. "A different life."

A silence and stillness descended over them, the room's climate control systems and the Mon Cal cruiser's turbo engines burbling in the background. Leia closed her eyes when she felt him rub his cheek against hers.

"I'll have you know," he quietly told her, "the presiding officer at my court martial, _he_ said I had a smart ass."

This, she knew, was why she loved him so much. He never knew when to give up.

"_Had_ a smart ass," she asked, "or _was_ a smart ass?"

He held her tighter. "You really know me too well, Princess."

Leia brought their joined hands up to her lips.

"And just so you know," he rumbled into her ear, "next shift, I'm lodging that formal complaint about you to your Inspector-General."

Placing a light kiss to his fingers, Leia whispered, "I'll help you fill in the form."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

Love love love me some young Han Solo. Happy to work with canon. Or not.

Will fight to death in defense of Alden Ehrenreich's portrayal of Han - hey, it was *_just_* before his growth spurt!

My problem: I'm sandwiched between being _young_ enough to be Harrison's daughter, and _old_ enough to be Alden's mother.

**ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:**

**GretchenAmy:** for reminding me about a certain photo from the 70s, which I researched THOROUGHLY, and recall that I even looked up the name of a certain piece of anatomy a few years ago. _***** **__**INGUINAL LIGAMENT *****_

**KnightedRogue: **for reminding me that Han swears like a trooper, and for giving me permission to do likewise.

**Brian Daley (RIP): **Corporate Sector characters and events are ALL his. Still the best SW novels written!


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